


Patron Saint

by drayton



Category: The People - Zenna Henderson
Genre: Gen, some day my fic will come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5314943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drayton/pseuds/drayton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extraordinary things can happen in ordinary places.  Even libraries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patron Saint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JanLevine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanLevine/gifts).



“He's back,” Sarah whispered, as I arrived for my shift at the Reference Desk.

“Who's back?” I said, although I already knew the answer.

“Your boyfriend.”

I glared at her. Three days ago, I'd made the mistake of asking Sarah if she knew anything about our Mystery Patron, and she'd taken my curiosity for romantic interest. I never would have become a librarian if I'd known how bad the gossip can be, although my stepsister assures me that lawyers are even worse.

Once I'd mentioned him, Sarah had become fixated on our Mystery Patron. Today, she'd been looking over the sign-up list for computer time, to learn his identity.

“This must be him,” she said, pointing to a scrawled entry, “but I can't make out the name.”

Odd. It looked plain enough to me. “Anthony something. Starts with a D.”

“How can you tell?

I shrugged. “Guess I'm just good with lousy handwriting.”

Anthony Something had been coming to the library nearly every day for the past two weeks. After helping a teenager with a search she should have been able to do on her own, I cast a surreptitious glance in his direction, wondering why he bothered me so. Twelve years as a librarian have honed my instincts when it comes to problem patrons, but this man was making me doubt my ability. There were no signs, however subtle, of intoxicants, florid psychosis, or overweening ego, the three things I dread most. He didn't have the furtive air of a food smuggler or someone who'd come to filch or deface a book, as the children sometimes do for a dare. Why was he pinging my radar?

We get all kinds in my library, due to its hybrid nature. Six years ago, during a budget downturn, the county decided it couldn't afford to rebuild our decrepit public library. Instead, the local community college got a badly-needed new library, and we moved in with them. Our patrons range from toddlers who've come for story hour to retirees looking for an excuse to get out of the house. In between, we have students of all ages and levels. I'll admit that I was skeptical at first, but it's worked out well.

After explaining to an irate elderly man that our too-frigid air conditioning is regrettably an all-or-nothing proposition, I stole another look at Anthony. All I saw was a quiet, neatly dressed man who'd done nothing to draw attention to himself. Something about his clothing and hair told me he didn't live in town, which isn't unusual. There are a surprising number of people tucked away in the canyons beyond the city limits, and some of those tiny enclaves don't have satellite dishes. I've heard that some of them even get by without electricity, although I can't imagine it. Even now, in late spring, the midday heat can be oppressive.

There was something about this man that was... different. Perhaps not scary different, but every time I looked at him, an itch in the back of my brain said, _Not_ _normal_ _._ _Pay attention!_

Usually, it's easy for me to tell why people have come to the library and what they're likely to do next, which has been the downfall of more than one young couple who'd hoped to do a little necking in an out-of-the-way corner. My coworkers believe I have eyes in the back of my head, but the truth is that you don't need extra eyes as long as you're willing to use the ones you have.

And that was what bothered me about him: I didn't know what he wanted. No matter how long I looked at him, nothing came to me. He remained a mystery, and I don't like mysteries.

It was a slow night, so I decided to put away a few books that belonged on the shelves closest to Anthony. I'd taken the opportunity to sidle past his computer on previous evenings and caught a brief glimpse of genealogy websites or news archives, but something told me today would be different. _Let it not be porn_ , I thought, and wondered why that would disappoint me. The filters on our computers are fairly good, but not insurmountable. He wouldn't be the first patron I've had to have a word with.

It wasn't porn. To my surprise, he was playing _Koomatka_ , the game all the kids are crazy about these days. He must have sensed my gaze, because he turned to give me a friendly smile. I could feel my face flush with embarrassment, but he didn't seem the least bit annoyed.

“It's an interesting game,” he said, gesturing at the computer. “Have you tried it, Miss...?”

On impulse, I put out my hand and said, “Hardy. Elizabeth Hardy, Executive Director of _Shh_. I've played it once. We screen all of the games before they go on the 'approved' list.”

He shook my hand and smiled. “Another Beth. I'm Anthony Diemus. Patron saint of lost things. Including this game,” he added ruefully, as a squawk behind him indicated he'd spent too much time paying attention to me instead of his computer.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean to bother you.”

“It's no bother. It's always a pleasure to meet a kindred spirit.”

He smiled again, and turned back to his computer, leaving me in confusion. We were kindred spirits? How? Was he a librarian, too?

 

That night, I stayed behind after closing. I told the other staff I needed to catch up on paperwork, but the only “catching up” I had in mind was taking another look at that game.

I settled down in front of a computer, with a forbidden mug of tea at hand. I smiled to myself as I recalled all the fuss there'd been over games when the Board was hashing out our computer usage policy. Evil influences corrupting our youth! A criminal misuse of county property!

Eventually, a compromise had been reached: game-playing was restricted to one bank of computers, and the games had to be pre-approved by library staff. I got the task of screening games as my reward for having been neutral and unengaged during the muddier bits of the Great Game Debate, proving once again that no good deed goes unpunished.

I started _Koomatka_ and was struck once again by the quality of the graphics. Unlike most of the games I've inspected, the backgrounds were surprisingly rich in detail and the figures moved just as real people do, down to the tiniest facial expression.

The game began with a swooping flyover of a planet that was clearly not Earth, yet felt familiar. A shrouded figure approached my character and said, “Our home is dying. We must leave or perish.”

Although I'd told Anthony I've only played _Koomatka_ once, it would be more accurate to say that I've played it several times in a single concentrated burst. When I screen games, I make an effort to go down the unexpected pathways as well as the “right” ones, to be sure there aren't any unsuitable surprises lurking in the corners. I knew from experience that if I chose to explore the planet instead of making preparations to leave it, I would see many wonderful things, but eventually the storms and earthquakes would come and the planet would be ripped apart with me still on it.

This time, my character walked up to another character and said, “We must prepare. Will you work with me?”

We built ships, but not the same way rockets are made on Earth. Although the characters in _Koomatka_ look human, they can fly and lift objects with their minds. After lifting and securing panels in place by thinking them there, a large group of us “melted” the skin of the ship into a seamless whole. Instead of points, I accumulated glowing blue fruit called _koomatka_ when my character learned to fly, and many more for every ship completed, which meant I spent a lot of time encouraging other characters to join the construction crew.

After the ships were finished, there was a time of choosing and sorting. While characters were choosing which ship to travel in and deciding what to take, the planet's death drew nearer. There had been early signs of its demise: failing crops, diminishing animal life, and unusual storms, but now the great earthquakes began. In haste, we loaded the ships and embarked on the Great Crossing. Some ships are always lost during the Great Crossing, and others turn aside to different destinations, but you can get the most _koomatka_ by selecting the ship that eventually makes it to Earth, where Settling begins.

Settling is even more hazardous than life on a dying planet. I've followed a variety of paths, some of which lead to death. The ones that don't lead to death all boil down to the same thing: concealing one's non-humanness in order to survive. Sometimes, that means living among humans without using my character's powers, but there's also the Canyon, an isolated settlement of aliens who use their abilities on a daily basis.

I enjoy playing the part of the game set in the Canyon, perhaps because I live in the Southwest. It didn't take me long to reach the Canyon tonight: even though I hadn't touched _Koomatka_ in weeks, all the pathways of the game seemed well-worn and easy to follow. Then again, racking up _koomatka_ had seemed easy to me the first time I played it, too.

In the Canyon, I soon encountered the Time of Division, when players must choose to stay on Earth or travel to a new world, inhabited only by their own kind. I've done it both ways, but tonight I chose to remain on Earth, as I usually do. Even that choice leads to sadness, though, as the precious Canyon is swallowed up by a lake and its inhabitants must find a new refuge.

There are two ways to “win” the game: by reaching the new refuge or by making it to the new home world. I made it to the new refuge in record time, beating my previous high score. I indulged in a moment of vanity and checked the high score table. I used to have the highest score for _Koomatka_ , but saw that I'd been bested that day... by AD.

I'd hoped that playing _Koomatka_ again would give me some insight into Anthony Diemus, but I felt as lost as ever. Why did he keep coming to my library? What was he looking for? And why did I have the niggling suspicion that it had something to do with a computer game?

 

He was back again the following evening. Sarah raised an eyebrow at me as I arrived, and I sent her away with a quelling look. At first, it was another quiet shift, but then a couple of the kids noticed Anthony playing _Koomatka_ , and soon he had a small crowd gathered behind him, watching intently. I was mildly surprised, as Anthony appears to be about thirty years of age, which puts him dangerously close to being on the wrong side of the Not Cool divide. If I offered the kids tips about playing _Koomatka_ , I'd probably end up getting fuddy duddy cooties on it, but clearly they didn't mind taking advice from him.

 _Is he trying to lure them?_ I thought, then immediately rejected the possibility. _He's not here for them_ , I realized. _He's here for you._

Where on Earth had _that_ come from? Was I developing a crush on Anthony, as Sarah had? At my age? I began shooing the kids out for closing, doing my best to avoid Anthony's gaze. Until I knew what was going on in my head, it was best to stay away from him.

Unfortunately, Anthony seemed intent on speaking to me. He hung back after the teenagers left, rummaging through his backpack. I could tell he wasn't actually looking for anything; he just wanted an excuse for staying. “I'm sorry if I caused too much of a distraction today,” he apologized. “With the kids, I mean. I hadn't realized just how popular _Kootmatka_ has become.”

“You can never tell what they'll like next,” I said dismissively. “It used to be kittens, of all things, so I guess it's not that strange that they'd get a kick out of accumulating singing fruit.”

“They don't think it's fruit.”

“What?” Despite my previous resolve, I turned to look directly at Anthony. There had been something in his quiet tone that said, _Look at me. This is important._

“ _Koomatka_. The children think they're jewels.”

“But they're fruit,” I insisted. “They taste like music,” I added, wondering how I'd become so certain of that. Had any of the kids ever said anything about music? Or fruit?

“Not many would agree with you.” He shifted from foot to foot, then said, “I have a confession to make. You're the reason _Koomatka_ was written.”

“I am?” I said, wondering if I had a crazy on my hands, after all.

“Yes. I travel around, looking for people like you: the high scorers, the people who see blue fruit instead of gems.”

“Why?” The library suddenly felt very empty, and I was a little frightened. Surely Ed was still somewhere in the building, closing up, checking the bathrooms and cul de sacs to make sure no one got locked in. Did I need to call for help?

Anthony smiled at me, carefully keeping his distance. “You're perfectly safe. I just... this is always the hard part.” He casually flicked his wrist at a nearby shelf. Several books promptly floated to him, as if summoned.

I stared at him. He didn't look crazy, or scary. He looked tired, and a little bit sad. He looked like someone who's used to not being believed. I gave the books in his hand a pointed glance and said, “It's not a game.”

“It's not,” he agreed. “ _Koomatka_ is the story of the People.”

“Your people?” I asked,

“And yours,” he said softly. “I'm guessing you had eyes in the back of your head long before you became a librarian. You've always known about people. Finished their sentences. Heard the things other people thought but didn't say. You've always been... apart, not like other people. Perhaps one of your grandparents was an orphan?”

“Who _are_ you?” I said, wondering if he'd been doing genealogical research on _me_. It was true: Dad had never been willing to say much about my long-dead mother or her family, but I knew Mom's dad had been an orphan.

“I told you. Anthony Diemus. Patron saint of lost things—and people.”

And then he told me about his home, and the Home, and a family I'd lost without ever knowing it, and all the not-fitting parts of my life clicked into place.

 

Two days later, Sarah greeted me with, “I haven't seen your boyfriend lately. Did you scare him off?”

I shrugged, striving for apparent indifference. “He said something the other day about going back to wherever he came from. I'm taking some vacation time next week. Do you think you can handle the Reference Desk on your own or should we borrow someone from Circulation?”

“I can manage. Going anywhere special?”

I smiled to myself. “Tell you when I get back.” _If I come back._


End file.
